


I'll Come Back For You

by drowning_ophelia



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Antichrist, F/M, Michael deserved better, Original Fiction, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowning_ophelia/pseuds/drowning_ophelia
Summary: Not even your wildest imagination, your impossible dreamscapes, could have prepared you for finding your savior in the man who was none other but the spawn of Satan. Michael Langdon.





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> Hi fam! I started working on a prompt today (where the reader, ultimately, will go back in time to fight Mallory and to save Michael) which is something very new to me. But I figured we could all use another Michael Fanfiction, so here we go! It’ll probably have five chapters in total, hence the allusion to Freytag’s pyramid. Hope you enjoy!

You had never believed that Nuclear Winter would equal terrible boredom. And, yet, here you were. The dinner conversations had grown mediocre and dull a long time ago as you felt you had heard every story, every memory, at least twice. The only upside was that sustenance had become scarce and you now no longer needed to endure the others’ company when forcing down the disgusting cube that was supposed to keep you alive.

Days and nights had blended together a long time ago and only the beckoning moon somewhere above whispered to you, telling you how many days, weeks, and months had truly passed. But you had already given up counting them. In the meantime, nothing had happened. There had been barely any news about the other Outposts or the state of the world, so you had decided to focus on the books in the library, your reason for being here, and your hatred.

Yes, you hated this place. And you hated why you had to be here. 

Your memory wandered back to when you had first stepped foot into Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. It had been your aunt who had suggested you go there after your father had passed away suddenly. Without further explanation, she had handed you an old grimoire and a one-way ticket to New Orleans, telling you to go see Miss Cordelia Goode, the reigning Supreme. Something within you had been slumbering until the very moment you passed over the threshold and were battered by the magical energy that was contained within the building.  
But whatever it was that had been hidden within you, no one could fully understand it. Not Miss Cordelia, not Myrtle Snow, and least of all yourself. You could only ever accomplish small and insignificant spells and while the abilities of the other students manifested and flourished around you, you felt that there was something holding you back. One of the most promising students, Mallory, had attempted to comfort you by saying that your powers would develop when the time was right. However, you would never experience the awakening of your abilities…at least not during your time at Miss Robichaux’s.

On the day of Michael Langdon’s attack, you had been hiding in your room, frustrated by your non-existent progress. The screams of the other students that had been unlucky enough to participate in Zoe and Queenie’s exercise had traveled up the stairs eerily. You remembered vividly how panic had flooded you and how you had hurried down to Miss Cordelia’s office to seek shelter. The Supreme had saved you that day. She had chosen to put you under an identity spell so that you were together with Mallory and Coco, hiding in plain sight from the Antichrist. In Outpost 3.

No one could ever have anticipated that the spell broke the moment you went underground. While everyone else was in panic mode over the beginning apocalypse, you had tried to piece together who you truly were. Quickly you had to realize that your companions were still completely unaware of their true identity, that you were the only one who had been liberated. It hadn’t taken you long to discover that this place, this fallout shelter, hummed with the same energy that you knew from Miss Robichaux’s. Its magic had not only neutralized Cordelia’s spell, but it had also kindled your power. It was as if someone had pulled away a veil, had allowed you to truly breathe and see for the first time. And it had been overwhelming.

Now, after such a long time on your own, you were starting to understand that there was more to you. There had to be. Even behind the thick layers of the identity spell, you could feel the magic surging through the veins of the completely oblivious Mallory and Coco — and their power felt very different to your own. You had also been able to call out Dinah Stevens, whose abilities were also unlike your own. The woman had kindly asked you to keep your mouth shut as she didn’t want anyone to know about that hidden side of hers. She had told you that that life was behind her now and had suggested you to stop exploring whatever it was that had awoken within you.

But you couldn’t. You were starved for something, anything, to do in a place like this. You hated looking after your former schoolmates, hated Coco’s flamboyant mood, and Mallory’s unrivaled plainness. Every night when you went to bed, you felt like you could look through the ceiling, through the thick layers of dirt and stone, and up into the night sky. Before you drifted into sleep, you always wished for someone to come and save you from this place, from these people.  
Not even your wildest imagination, your impossible dreamscapes, could possibly have prepared you for finding your savior in the man who was none other but the spawn of Satan. Michael Langdon.

Your breath hitched in your throat the moment Michael Langdon stepped into the library. While you had never seen him face to face, you could have told who he was even before he introduced himself. A dark, cataclysmic power enveloped him in a way you had never experienced before. While he reported on the catastrophic state of the other Outposts, your eyes slid to Dinah, whose face was set in stone. She must feel the energy radiating from him, too, but had apparently chosen to ignore it. You couldn’t understand why, but decided to do the same. At least for now.

With growing uneasiness you listened to his every word, your stomach turning leaden when he explained that he would conduct interviews in order to determine who would be worth saving. Apparently, your only chance of survival lay in a place called the Sanctuary. While Gallant, Coco’s hairdresser, offered to go first, you took a deep breath, silently hoping that Cordelia would finally come to retrieve her girls. You knew that Mallory would be the one that was supposed to destroy Michael, but there was no chance in hell that she could do so without the Supreme’s help and guidance.

Gallant and Langdon disappeared behind the tall sliding doors of the office that was usually occupied by Miss Venable. The terribly power-hungry woman clenched her jaw in annoyance and spoke to her familiar, Miss Meade, in hushed tones. She shot you a disapproving look as you walked past her, your heavy purple dress hissing against the glossy floor.  
Back in your room, you carefully tapped into your constantly evolving and growing power. It responded to your careful touch like a purring kitten, playful and content. You knew you had to be careful around Langdon, had to keep your true self hidden. Otherwise, he would probably kill you and while you may be bored to death, you weren’t willing to die. Not yet.

You spent hours on carefully building strong, adamant walls around yourself that would keep the Antichrist from knowing your true nature. If a simple identity spell could do the trick, this impenetrable obsidian stronghold would be more than enough to keep you protected. So when you left your room to get some sparkling water, you felt sheltered and confident. With swift steps, you made your way through the empty, candlelit hallways until a shadow stepped out in front of you.

“Mr. Langdon,” you breathed and felt a nervous smile tug at your lips, “I hadn’t expected you here.” Carefully, and without the bat of a single eyelash, you felt for your shield which was steadily in place. Good.

“Ah, Miss…?” he tilted his head in a predatory manner, pretending to search for your name. “Just [Y/N]. I’ve never liked people addressing me by my last name,” you excused and straightened your spine, unwilling to yield to his inquisitive gaze. “Well, aren’t you delightful?” he teased as his eyes wandered over every inch of you. “Not especially,” you shot back without contemplating your words. Langdon stared at you for a moment, unblinkingly, clearly taken aback by the snarky comment, but eventually, he laughed gently and arched an eyebrow, “Surprisingly feisty. Consider me impressed, [Y/N].”

You had to admit that you found him handsome. Beautiful even. But was that truly surprising? Of course, Satan would make his son alluring and graceful. A walking temptation. His luscious blonde waves looked silky and supple, practically beckoning you to touch it, and it didn’t take too much imagination to guess how delicious he looked under his luxurious, all-black attire.

“Tell me, [Y/N], would you like to join me for an interview now?” His tone was challenging and didn’t leave you with any exit strategies. There was nothing else for you to do. You were cooped up underground, with nowhere to go, no excuse to tell him off. You inclined your head in a single nod. He beamed at you, “Wonderful. Please, follow me.”

When you arrived at the office, he gestured for you to take a seat, “Now, tell me something about yourself. Anything that’s not already in this file.” He dropped a leather-bound folder on the desk, the thud echoing off of the walls. You shifted in your seat nervously. It was news to you that there was a file with any information on you.

“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know, Mr. Langdon? It would make this much easier for both of us,” you suggested and folded your arms in front of you protectively. He chuckled and shook his head, making his locks sway, “That’s not cooperating, my dear.” There was a sharp warning in his tone that made you swallow. But your lips were sealed shut, just like the adamant walls around your power.

“Then let me ask you a question, only to get us started,” he said and pressed his lips into a hard line as he walked around the desk, “Who is your mother?” He perched on the desk nonchalantly, his hand resting under his chin as he awaited your reply with great curiosity, “Remember, I will know if you should lie.”

Your power snapped its head up in surprise, running a claw over the walls of its cage. How did he know who you truly were? What was written in that file? What had Cordelia and Myrtle revealed about you?  
These were dangerous grounds and you had only so many ways of protecting yourself. “I was raised by my father. My mother died during childbirth,” you answered, telling him what you had always been told. You had suspected that people had withheld something from you, something important. But you had never been able to find out what it was.

Michael smirked and straightened. His fingers brushed over your cheek, the touch oddly intimate. “That’s not true and you know it,” he whispered. “It’s not a lie either,” you reminded him, ignoring the heat that rose to your cheeks at his touch. “Hmm,” he crooned as his fingers slid under your chin to tilt it up, his ice blue eyes meeting yours unwaveringly, “What if I were to tell you that I know who your mother is?”

A shiver danced down your spine. It was a bluff, it had to be. “How could you possibly know?”

Michael dropped his hand and went back around the desk, producing something from a drawer, “Because I have this.” Your heart dropped as you saw your father’s grimoire in Michael’s hands. Where had he found it? You had left it in the school, it should have burned in the blast. Yes, this artifact would reveal your identity as your name was clearly spelled out in the family tree.  
“Now, let’s see…,” he flipped through the old parchment pages, stopping at a particular page you had brooded over one too many times, “You may never have fully understood what was written here, but I have some insight that I may be willing to share with you. As I sense no power within you, you would be incapable of finding any answers by yourself. To be honest, I’m surprised that the Supreme would accept such a bland girl such as yourself. You belong at a regular boarding school.”

You got up from the chair and held out a hand, “Give back what doesn’t belong to you.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Watch your tone. I’m offering you something. You shouldn’t take that too lightly.”

“Then name your price,” you demanded. Michael took a deep, triumphant breath, “I want you to tell me where your sisters are hiding.”  
“If you’ve read my file, you know I don’t have any siblings,” you shot back. “Don’t be smart with me. I won’t pretend to be something I’m not. You know who and what I am. Now, tell me where the rest of your coven is, witch, or the deal is off the table,” he clarified and snapped the grimoire shut.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the grin from spreading on your face. He had made a terrible mistake without even noticing. With sudden confidence, you joined him behind the desk and for a split second confusion flickered across his handsome features.  
“Tell me who my mother is and I will disclose the secret retreat of the coven,” you offered him your hand, well-knowing that he underestimated you immensely. The son of Satan would be strong enough to help you trace your lineage, but he hadn’t understood something that you had known ever since your powers had awoken: only a part of you, a very small part, was a witch. The rest was something obscure, something sublime that you were yet to fully explore.

Michael nodded curtly, took your hand and kissed it tenderly, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”


	2. Rising Action

A storm was beginning to brew above ground, you could feel it in your bones. It was a perfect time and setting to confront Michael. The storm’s tension crackled through the air, making your abilities tingle with power and apprehension. You knew you could channel this energy, should it be necessary. Should the Antichrist pose a problem. Chances were that he was stronger than you, but him underestimating you awarded you with a certain advantage. You could strike him when he least expected it.

After making the agreement with him, he had dismissed you. The interview had been cut short, no doubt, but you didn’t assume that he would let you off the hook that easily. He was curious about you and you couldn’t blame him. Surely he knew a fair amount about Cordelia, so naturally, he wouldn’t believe that she had allowed you to stay at Miss Robichaux’s if you weren’t otherworldly at all. Plus, your family tree told him enough about how powerful your father had been, including the rest of his family. It wasn’t exactly credible to claim that you were nothing more than an ordinary, human girl.

To your surprise, Michael hadn’t joined you and the other Purples for your daily meal. Instead, Coco took the opportunity to express her discontent. After she had shoved the cube into her mouth and finished it, she started an extensive rant, telling everyone for the millionth time that she was so disappointed in this place and that her status as an influencer alone should secure her a spot in the Sanctuary. You just rolled your eyes in annoyance and refrained from reminding her that she was a spoiled brat and that there were no people left to be influenced into buying smoothies and make-up products. She had been so much nicer before the identity spell. 

It wasn’t until Gallant had warned her about getting frown lines that she had shut her mouth. As a way of comforting her, he had started to fuss with her hair. With an exasperated sigh, you decided to excuse yourself from the circle. Except for Dinah, everyone bought your excuse of having a headache.

The halls were deserted, without even a Gray scurrying around somewhere, so the clicking of your heels against the polished floor echoed off of the cavernous structure. For a moment you toyed with the idea of seeking out Michael, but quickly decided against it. It wasn’t particularly late yet, so he would probably pull someone into an interview and you weren’t keen on barging in on that. 

You hadn’t failed to notice the sexual energy that wafted around him like a thick cloud. Someone was bound for responding to it, sooner rather than later. And when they did, you wouldn’t want to interrupt it. Everyone here, including yourself, was starved for sexual attention due to Miss Venable’s ridiculous rules. Reacting to Michael’s enticement was utterly inevitable. 

As you entered your room and began to loosen the lacing of your mauve colored gown, you remembered the feeling of his lips against your hand. A shudder ran through you as you felt the ghost of his touch on your skin. Yes, you were starved indeed. Maybe you should take a cold shower before seeing him. After you kicked off your pumps, you padded into the en-suite bathroom. Although you tried not to, you couldn’t keep yourself from imagining that it was Michael’s hands that peeled the dress away from your body. Goosebumps crept over your skin as you fantasized about his fingertips exploring you.

The cold water did nothing to wash the reverie down the drain, so you contented yourself with letting your own hands wander over your curves until they dipped between your legs. A low moan escaped you as you imagined how satisfied Michael would be with the wetness he found waiting for him. He’d tell you what a good girl you were, would whisper sweet nothings into your ear while he pleasured you. Oh, how you needed this. You couldn’t help his name slipping from your lips as you felt your muscles tense, your body reacting willingly to your touch and fantasy.

A harsh knock on your door brought you back to reality. You waited a moment, wishing that whoever craved your attention would just give up, leaving you to your thoughts. But before long, a second knock resonated through the room and with a groan you turned off the shower. 

“This better be good,” you mumbled as you secured a velvet robe tightly around your waist, your wet skin soaking through the soft material quickly. However, this was better than a towel.

You pulled the door open, making sure that annoyance was clearly written on your face so the disturber would leave quickly. 

“Yes?” you snapped but immediately froze. Entirely unprepared, you stared into the handsome face of the man you had just imagined caressing you. You could feel yourself blushing as you wetted your lips sheepishly. “Mr. Langdon. What can I do for you?” you got out after clearing your throat.

“Don’t ask what you can do for me, but what I can do for you,” he said with a smirk, “May I?” 

You stepped aside, letting him in, “I assumed you’d be busy and that we could talk about my heritage later tonight.” Seeing him, in front of you, clad like a dark prince, radiating poise and dominance didn’t exactly help the needy knot in your belly subside. He cocked his head to the side and regarded you intently, his piercing eyes transfixed on a drop of water that slowly slid down your neck and disappeared between the slope of your breasts.  

“How could I possibly get any work done when you clearly crave my attention,” he finally said and sucked his teeth while still appreciating your cleavage. 

“I—excuse me?” you stammered, pulling the robe closer around yourself. 

“Your thoughts,” he started, his gaze wandering back to your eyes languidly, “They keep bellowing my name, calling out to me, inviting me to come to you.” Your mouth went dry. How could he possibly be capable of reading your thoughts without realizing what you had concealed behind adamant walls?

“Don’t bother denying it. Even if it wasn’t spelled out in your head, I could sense it,” he smiled viciously as he referred to how your arousal hung thickly in the air. 

“Now, [Y/N], all I need to hear is you asking me. Out loud. Tell me what you want from me and I may endow you with it,” his voice was smooth and unfazed as if he had just offered to help you do the dishes.

“Miss Venable has strict rules,” you muttered, ignoring your body’s urges. Michael scoffed disapprovingly, “That’s a weak excuse. You’ve always guessed that she is merely a power-hungry tyrant who made rules to suit no one but herself.” He was right, but you were petrified, unable to tell him what you wanted, what you needed.

Michael pulled in a breath, “I’ll leave then. You can find me tonight.” He turned on his heel, heading towards the door. As his hand found the doorknob, you found your voice, “Stay. Please.” He looked over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow, “Please, what?” 

“Please,” you hesitated and bit your lip, “Please, touch me.” 

He turned around triumphantly and your heart hammered in your chest at his next question. “Touch you where?”

“Everywhere,” your voice was barely more than a whisper. He nodded in agreement, stalking towards you like a predator, “Where would you like me to begin?” Michael’s hands ran over the lapels of your robe, tugging at it gently to reveal more of your cleavage. “Undress me,” you suggested and reveled in the fire that started to burn behind his eyes.  

Tauntingly slow, he pulled at the tie around your waist until it came undone. The robe fell away and revealed your naked body to him. Michael allowed himself to scrutinize every inch, every curve of your body after he had pushed the garment off your shoulders. 

“It’s astonishing when the imagination complies with reality,” he complimented, voice slightly husky, “Lie down.” His command added to your excitement.  

The soft sheets felt cool against your heated skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows, curious to see what he would do next. Michael grabbed your ankles, before pushing your knees apart to take a look at you. You could see that he tried to withhold a smile as he undressed. The dim, golden light of the candles licked over his deliciously defined body and you swallowed hard when his considerable length sprung free. Your crore throbbed greedily at the sight of him.

“Let’s see how far you got on your own,” he said softly. Michael slipped a finger between your folds, “Deliciously wet. You were almost done.” A wicked grin spread on his face when he realized when he had interrupted you. “Do you want me to finish you?” 

“Yes,” you whispered, your body aching for more. 

“How?” he asked and thrusted two fingers into you, stretching and exploring you. 

“Not like that,” you breathed, hungry for something else, writhing under his teasing touch. “Do you want me to fuck you?” He palmed your clit, his movements making you groan in response. You could only nod, unable to utter any words as he moved inside of you.

Michael removed his fingers to angle your knees before hovering over you. His silky strands cascaded over you as he planted a kiss on your neck. “I’ll make you scream,” he breathed the promise against your skin as he moved up your jaw. His lips finally met yours in a sensuous kiss. The hunger that radiated from him made you shiver with anticipation.

Michael slammed into you with one forceful stroke and gave you a moment to adjust to the fullness of him inside of you. In this moment, you didn’t care who he was, who you were, and you ignored the warning bells that had gone off. You would cherish this temptation instead of renouncing it. 

With tantalizing slowness, he eased back out, only to thrust back into you again. Deeper and harder this time. Gradually, Michael started to move and you raised your hips to meet his relentless rhythm. As he sped up, pounding in and out of you, you moaned and savored every place you touched.

Yes, Michael equaled temptation and you had given into it, far too willingly. His lips found yours, his teeth pulling at your lower lip playfully. You couldn’t get enough of this. Of him. 

Drunk on him, you dragged your nails over his back, marking him, making him yours. Even if it was only for a moment. Even if nobody cared. Even if you shouldn't.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered breathlessly. “Yes,” you moaned, feeling the building sensation in your lower abdomen that you had been bereft of before. “Then come for me.” Michael’s words were like a permission you didn’t know you needed and you felt your climax tearing through you violently. When you went over the edge, you forgot everything around you.  As your walls convulsed around him, as his name fell from your lips in immeasurable ecstasy, he thrusted into you deeply, emptying himself inside of you.

When he eventually pulled himself away, he collapsed next to you on the bed, both of you panting. This time, you allowed yourself to play with a strand of his hair, your eyes fixed on the man you should loathe for what he had done to the world. But, although your carnal hunger was now stilled, the hatred and repulsion didn’t manifest. Instead, you just looked at him.

What had made him the way that he was? What had happened to him in the past? Where had he come from? He wasn’t purely evil, you could feel that. There was much more to him than what met the eye. Michael was an enigma that you were desperate to unravel.

“I think we need to revaluate our arrangement,” he announced once his breathing had become steady. His ice blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling, fixed on the storm above. You chuckled, “Why? Do we need to add sexual benefits?” In fact, you wouldn’t mind that.

Michael sat up gracefully and got out of bed. You rolled onto your side and frowned as you noticed that he was already getting dressed. And here you had been foolishly hoping for more.

“Because you lied to me,” he stated and finished buttoning his shirt. Your heart stopped and you pushed yourself up, “Excuse me?” 

“You played a perfect charade yesterday. I should compliment you on your flawless deception. Pretending you were normal, untouched by magic,” he stopped to look at you, “But I really dislike being betrayed like that.”

Suddenly, it hit you. You had slipped up. Only for a second, a short moment, when your body and mind had been clouded by lust. Michael had seen you. And he had been able to sense your power.  

“You should have known better,” you snapped, “You should have known from the grimoire. And you should have known if you truly knew anything about my mother.” 

Swift as a snake he was in front of you and his hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye, “Oh, I know about your mother. But I would never have guessed that she would create something so powerful as you.”

You swatted his hand away decidedly, the hatred finally flaring up in you like a fire rising from cinders, “Tell me who she is!” Michael scrutinized you as if looking for any resemblance between you and your parent.

“You, [Y/N], have some very influential and ancient siblings. Aether. Phanes. Erebus. And The Moirai. Why your mother would ever have found it necessary to breed with a human warlock is truly beyond me. But, nevertheless, here you are. A demi-goddess,” he hissed the last word at you as if it was poisonous.

“What?” you asked in utter disbelief. “You heard what I said,” Michael leaned in until you were sharing breath, “You want to know your mother’s name? Ananke. Your mother is the personification of absolute obligation, the constraining force of destiny.”

“You’re lying,” your voice was trembling and while you didn’t want to believe him, something within you whispered that he was telling the truth. This wouldn’t just make you much stronger than you had anticipated, it made you a threat. You were a threat to him, the Antichrist.

“If you don’t believe me,” he said and straightened, “then let’s call on her. The ritual in your grimoire is one of evocation.” Michael picked up your robe and threw it at you, “Come. Meet your mother.”


	3. Climax

Michael’s words hadn’t really registered with you yet. Instead, you just sat there, barely covered by the bundle of soft fabric that he had thrown at you a moment before. Your mother. He wanted you to meet your mother. After all these years of you guessing who she could possibly be, after all the unanswered questions that had ghosted in your head.  
Ananke. The name rang through you, loud and clear. It emanated familiarity and warmth, both of which you hadn’t sensed since…since leaving home. Since your father died.

“Let me get dressed. I’m not going to leave this room in nothing but a robe,” you sputtered, nervousness tingling through your body as you got up to find a gown. Truthfully, you just hadn’t imagined yourself to meet your mother for the first time, half-naked, and with a look that clearly suggested that you had only just recovered from an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Zip me up please?” you asked in a small voice after you had arranged your hair and pulled on an imperial purple gown, crafted from layers of wispy tulle and adorned with shimmering crystals that glistened like stars. With surprising gentleness, Michael secured the hook and zip fastening, even arranging the fluttering cape that overlaid the shoulders. You took a deep breath before turning around to him, “Okay. What do we need?”

“Your blood and rainwater.” His voice was deadly soft and a brutal smile graced his lips. “You want us to go…outside?” you checked in utter disbelief. Michael shrugged nonchalantly, “We’re different, you and I. The fallout cannot harm us.” You arched an eyebrow, “Or maybe you just say that so I will get contaminated.” He gave you a challenging look, clearly implying that you would only know if you’d follow him up, into the world that had burned to cinders.

Memories of the day you had traveled to Outpost 3 flickered through your mind as you fell into step beside him. The raging ball of fire that had eaten its way through Los Angeles as if the buildings were made of paper. The charred stumps and husks that had once belonged to old, mighty trees. The way your feet had dragged through the ash as if it was thick snow, embers still visible in places and drifting through the toxic air around you. What did the world look like now? Had it been able to recover, only the slightest bit?

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Miss Venable’s voice resonated through the hallway just when you were about to enter the decontamination chamber. She brought her cane down with force, the sound making you flinch. You regarded Michael from the corner of your eye, curious to see what excuse he would come up with.  
“That’s classified,” he simply said, his tone dripping with venom. Miss Venable scowled at the Antichrist, clearly bothered by him pulling rank over her. Suddenly, footsteps sounded from behind the domineering woman, pulling everyone’s attention towards the unsolicited audience.

“Oh, hell no. Are you taking her to the Sanctuary? What about us? What about me? I thought my interview went perfectly, to say the least!” Coco snapped and braced her hands on her hips, looking at Michael through narrowed eyes. “Wait, she gets to go to the Sanctuary?” Gallant checked and gave you a derogatory look. Mallory just stood behind them, looking uncomfortable in her gray uniform.

“While Miss [L/N] has indeed qualified herself to be brought to the Sanctuary, we are not going there right now. I’d advise you to wait patiently for my remaining assessments until I will announce them tomorrow night. This is a private matter.” Michael’s voice held enough warning to make a shiver dance down your spine. His usual air of poise and dominance had shifted. Right now, he was dangerous. A sovereign, ready and willing to inflict agony and torment on his feeble subjects, should they not step back into their place. “Do not think about following us. Should you defy my orders, consider it your instant disqualification from salvation.”  
His words hung in the air heavily and you didn’t dare to move until you felt his hand on the small of your back, guiding you decidedly towards the chamber. Of course, he wouldn’t wait for a response. He would leave them behind without awarding them with any other attention, any other utterance.

“You truly enjoy being a puppet master, don’t you?” you checked, absentmindedly smoothing over your dress after having stepped into the elevator. Michael chuckled, “It’s so easy once you know which buttons to push.” He rested his hands behind his back, regarding you with curiosity, “Why were you left here? By the witches?”  
Your heart stopped dead in your chest. The question had to come up eventually, but how could you possibly answer it without him catching the lie? Without him learning that the person who was supposed to defy him was right here?

“I wasn’t killed when you attacked the Coven. Cordelia knew that I couldn’t be of any help to her, so she placed me here. A kind attempt at assuring my survival. I would only have been a burden to her,” you explained after having checked that your protective adamant walls were intact and impermeable. He clenched his jaw, obviously discontent by not being able to tell that you only told a half-truth. And then it hit you.  
You turned to him slightly, tilting your head to the side, “You react only to desire. You can’t read other’s thoughts at all.” When you had spoken of your mother, it had been tied to the desire of knowing her. When he had found you in your room, you had desired him. Speaking of the Coven was tied to no desire whatsoever. Yes, you were grateful for the patience and benevolence of Miss Cordelia, but you didn’t desire to be reunited with her or the others.

“The Supreme has grossly underestimated you,” Michael noted. This was clearly intended as a compliment, so you took it as one. “Maybe she would have been able to defeat me, had she seen your potential.” You regarded him quizzically, surprised that he would admit to you being a danger to him. Apparently, Michael rested on his own belief of having won this fight already. So much so that it could, eventually, lead to his failure.

“Shall we?” he asked and offered you his arm as the doors slid away, revealing nothing but a gray haze beyond. Like a veil, it covered the world in its entirety, obscuring whatever hid itself beyond the clearing where the entrance of Outpost 3 was located. Tentatively, you hooked your arms through his and followed him into the dense fog.

The air was humid and already crackling with electricity as the storm quietly rumbled somewhere in close proximity. You weren’t sure whether or not it was a good idea to stand there, in the middle of nowhere, unprotected from looming lighting, but Michael’s serenity gave you some reassurance.  
Rain started to fall softly as you came to a halt not too far away from the sculpture that hid the elevator. The drops pattered against you like cold, gentle kisses and you realized how much you had missed the elements. As if in answer to your thought, the continuously growing wind tugged at your cape and skirt playfully. Although the air, the ground, and everything around you was toxic in its own sense, this felt more welcoming than the fallout shelter ever had.

“What now?” you dared to ask, your gaze fixed on Michael as he was the only thing you could see through the hazy cloud that enveloped you. “We wait for the eye of the storm and then you will offer her your blood,” he sounded matter-of-factly. “A lot of blood?” you checked, feeling queasy at the thought. “As much as she deems necessary.” His tone gave nothing away, speaking of the offering as if it could be anything ranging from a single to the very last drop of blood contained by your body. At the back of your head, a voice warned that this was a perfect opportunity for him to kill you. You shoved it away decidedly. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead already.

While the rain started to drench you both, you waited, without a single word leaving your lips. Unexpectedly, however, you started to feel a pull. Your power stretched lazily behind the adamant walls, preparing itself for what was to come. Sparks flew through your body and you found Michael’s eyes, calm like endless-seeming pools of icy water. “It’s time,” your voice was barely more than a whisper.  
He only nodded his agreement and pulled out a razor-sharp dagger, its blade reflecting the lighting bold that jolted through the sky, “Do you want me to do the honors?” The grin that tugged at his lips was playful. He was enjoying this. 

“Are you that desperate to make your nemesis bleed?” you checked. Michael inclined his head slightly as his gaze darkened, “You are not my nemesis, your witchy half-sisters are. Your Supreme. I won’t consider you my enemy unless you choose that role for yourself.” A warning and a promise all in one. If you played by his rules, you’d be safe. A fair advice, you had to admit.

Goosebumps rose on your skin as you extended your hands, palm up, “I trust you.” You knew that you needed him.  
Michael furrowed his brow and paused for a moment, “Trust is a strong word. Don’t use it if you don’t mean it.” Instead of answering him, you stepped closer, a silent invitation to finally do what you had come out here to do.

The knife was sharp enough that you barely felt pain as Michael ran it over both of your palms, the blade cutting through your tender skin as if it was soft butter. You winced at the burning sensation but held utterly still. Blood immediately started to seep from the wounds, the hot liquid running down your skin, melting with the rain coming from above.  
When the first drop of blood hit the earth, a deafening crack of thunder sounded, its impact resonating through the ground with a quiver. Your powers started to claw at their containing walls, desperate to be released.

Michael started to mumble unknown words in Latin as he buried the dagger into the ground, right in front of you. The moment the blade cut into the earth, the meticulous cage you had created was broken open, leaving you gasping for air at the sudden overflow of power that surged through you violently. It was threatening to rip you apart.

“Stop this! Please, make it stop!” you called over the thunder and the blood rushing in your ears. Your heart hammered in your chest and you felt on the verge of fainting. It felt like shards were cutting through your lungs with every breath you took and every fiber in your body ached under the pressure that was threatening to tear right through you. But instead of aborting the ritual, Michael kept whispering the Latin spell into the howling wind.

When you realized that he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t cave in, your chest tightened and stars began dancing before your eyes. Your vision became blurry and your body went slack. With a hard thud, your body met the muddy ground. Around you, the world went still and the raging storm, Michael’s words, the gray haze faded into nothingness; swallowed up by the gaping void of absolute darkness.

“Awaken, [Y/N]. Open your eyes.” The woman’s voice was gentle, its sound like a caress, stirring something inside of you that you had believed to be destroyed during the blackout. You drew in a sharp breath and peeked through your eyelashes, trying to prepare yourself for anything. Were you dead? Or were you in another world?

The sun tickled you softly as its light flickered through the thick canopy of leaves. Wherever you were, it could never be part of the apocalyptic world you had lived in this past year. Here, an orchestra of birdsong and amphibian croaks floated on a pleasant, mild wind that shuffled the olive trees. This place was something else, something magical…something divine.

The ground underneath you felt soft and mossy, its earthy smell mixing with the scent of blooming flowers. You savored this moment and took a deep, luxurious breath, your lungs rejoicing at the fresh air that flooded them. When you opened your eyes completely, you realized that this place, its richness, was a stark contrast to the gray haze and dim, golden candlelight that had been your reality only moments before.

A woman knelt next to you, her slender frame hidden by an airy, crisp white dress. Her hair fell in soft waves down to her waist, its shade identical to yours. A woven crown of fern, rue, and bittersweet adorned her silky strands. The petals and leaves looked lush as if she had only just made it and her smooth skin glowed faintly. Her eyes looked at you with warmth and love, an amiable smile on her lips. Finally, you realized that the woman’s face was a reflection of your own. There was no doubt about it. This was your mother. And she was, indeed, a goddess.

“I’ve waited so long for you to find me,” she said, “But we don’t have much time. Let’s use it wisely.” She extended a delicate hand to help you sit up.  
“What is this place?” you demanded in wonder, quietly hoping that there was a way for you to stay here. A ritual which could place you here for eternity. “It’s my safe haven, in the mountains of Corinth. You have slipped into a different time and keeping you here for too long will have severe consequences. I wish I could tell you more but time is already running out. Come, walk with me.”

Ananke rose in a single fluent movement, everything about her graceful and mystical. You couldn’t imagine your pragmatic and rough father with her at all. Especially, because she looked so young. She appeared no older than yourself. For anyone else, someone from the outside, she might look like your twin sister. Not your mother, not an eons-old divine entity. 

The goddess led you to a small pool of water, its silvery surface mirroring the fluffy clouds that drifted through the cerulean sky. “We will meet again and I promise to answer whatever questions you may have then. But we need to focus on something else now. The Antichrist has destroyed the world. Humanity will fail and cease to exist very soon. Michael Langdon was guided down the wrong path and not even I could do anything about it. The magical veil surrounding him, the veil surrounding Cordelia Goode and her Coven, blocked out my intervention. Only you, a half-blood, can transcend the threshold that separates us. Your power only just awoke and you will have to access it entirely to save the world.”

She looked at you expectantly, her expression stern. This was a matter of urgency, you could tell. And yet, you felt like she had the wrong girl, “I doubt that I will be able to rebuild the world. How? With whom?”

“Who said anything about rebuilding? You are given two choices. Either the Coven can help you or your family. Ultimately, you will have to choose which way to go. But in both scenarios, the key to saving the world is the man who has destroyed it. In order to save humanity, you must save Michael Langdon.“  
You couldn’t keep the scoff in, “He doesn’t need saving. He seems pretty okay with being who he is.”  
Ananke sighed through her nose, clearly growing impatient, “He can be good, my child. But it is up to you to manifest this goodness within him. Come, see.” She extended her hands towards the water, silently urging you to look into its depths.

Underneath the surface, you could see a faint shadow that manifested itself until it looked like Michael. He looked younger though, his golden curls shorter and his body lanky. A teenager that still had to grow into a man. Scenes of his past flickered over the water, showing you how much pain, misunderstanding, manipulation, and exploitation he had met in his short life. People ever only saw him as a tool for their own goals and beliefs.  
Even the people that had pretended to love him had only done so because of what he could be, not who he actually was. Not even his precious Miss Mead. No, like everyone else, she answered her savior — she didn’t love Michael, she loved the Antichrist. The idea of what he was capable of doing. Bitterly, you decided that she had earned her death, even if it had broken Michael’s heart. Even if he had felt the need to recreate her, to have some sense of security and fallacy of being loved.

Even Cordelia, who you had always believed to be a kind and generous woman, had only offered to help him when he was already too far gone. She should have seen his potential earlier; she should have saved him earlier. Seeing this, realizing how terribly he had been mistreated, made tears burn behind your eyes. 

“The witches plan on sending Mallory back in time. Cordelia will find you soon and when she does, she will fight Michael. Mallory will go back to when Michael’s powers were still manifesting. When he was still vulnerable. The Coven can take him in, can teach him to control his urges, and help him grow into someone who won’t destroy the world, but into a man of greatness.”

“Should Mallory not offer her hand to him, however, you will need to step in,” Ananke took your hand and you felt how she pressed something sharp into your palm, “Stay in the shadows until she has made her decision. If she chooses the wrong path, call on your sisters. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. You will know what to do when they are at your side.”

“Will they answer to this?” you asked, inspecting the small scythe pendant she had given you. Ananke shook her head, her tresses swaying, “No. But someone else will. When it is time to follow Mallory, summon flame to burn this in the palm of your hand. Someone close to me will lead you to her. Your sisters will come the moment you ask them to, ready to help you. All your life, we have been watching you closely, [Y/N]. Know that you are loved, you have always been loved. It is up to you to pass this love on to someone else.”

She pulled you into a tight embrace and leaned her forehead against yours. At her touch, images of the future, of how things could be if you made the right choices, flashed through your mind. They made the tears you had tried to hold back when you had witnessed Michael’s terrible past pool over, tracing down your hot cheeks.

“I will see you soon, my child. Be strong.” Ananke kissed your eyes closed and you felt a gentle pull that dragged you away from her world. This time the darkness wasn’t violent, instead, it was a warm blanket that pulled itself away the moment you felt the muddy earth beneath you again.

“Was she everything you hoped for?” Your eyes flew open at Michael’s voice, which sounded slightly different now that you had learned so much about him. The hand he offered to help you stand was warm against yours. “More,” you got out, your voice trembling slightly, “So much more.” As was he. So much more. You didn’t care that your dress was covered in wet dirt when you threw your arms around him, “This pain you carry, Michael Langdon, you won’t have to bear its weight by yourself anymore.”

While at first confusion was written on his handsome features, you soon felt his arms snake around your body, answering your embrace. Just like everyone else, Michael had always yearned for love, warmth, and support — and you would be the one to finally bestow him with these gifts. Ananke had shown you what he could become if you would save him. And you would save him. For the sake of everyone, you would save the Antichrist, Michael Langdon. Because he had always deserved better.


	4. Falling Action

Scene 1  
There would be no way of salvaging the delicate fabric of your dress. It was filthy from you laying in the mud for the entire time you had spoken with your mother. Michael had explained to you that you hadn’t been gone, so whatever time and space you had accessed had merely been in your head. As you looked down, you saw that the wounds on your hands had already healed completely, only two pale pink lines were hinting at the cut that had been there moments earlier.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Michael suggested, his tone and touch surprisingly gentle now that you had chosen to stand by his side. He had known so little love and affection throughout his life that he was willing to hold on to any kindness instantaneously, without any second thoughts. It emphasized how painfully young he still was.

“We need to sneak past Miss Venable, I really don’t need her attitude right now,” you sighed, exhausted from what you had just experienced, “And why exactly does your own robot not obey you? She’ll tell us her mind, too, when she sees us.” Michael scowled at you, “Your mother has told you too much. Miss Mead will answer me when I need her to. The rest is—”  
“Let me guess, classified,” you snorted. His pale blue eyes narrowed and you knew you had gone a little too far. You waved dismissively, signaling that you would drop the discussion. To be fair, after what you had just seen, you didn’t want to argue with him. Instead, you wanted to enjoy these very limited moments you still had with him. With this Michael. An epitome of power, pain, and pleasure.

When you entered the elevator, you rubbed your neck, feeling sore from the ritual. “And how do you intend to punish my mother for telling me too much? Will you try to kill a goddess?” you noted drily, ignoring his disapproving gaze, “If it is of any consolation…my mother likes you.” A bitter smile tugged at his lips, clearly indicating that he didn’t believe you. “She is sincere and just, Michael. She wanted to help you, desperately, but she couldn’t. I saw you through her eyes, felt her pain pulse through my veins.”

“W-what did you see?” Michael’s voice trembled and he suddenly looked so much like the young, lost boy from your mother’s memories. “She showed me everything that I needed to see. Showed me everything I needed to know to understand that you have been treated wrongfully in the past.”  
His handsome features softened and he lifted his hand, as if he wanted to reach out to touch you, but you both froze when the doors slid away to reveal Miss Mead and her incredibly tall auxiliary, both clad in the black suits that were supposed to protect them from radiation. The plague masks always made you grimace. This place had been designed with too many dramatic elements — by Michael, as you had now learned.

“You need to go to the decontamination room,” Miss Mead snapped at you, “That includes you, Mr. Langdon. Being with the Cooperative does not make you immune to radiation or any illnesses. I cannot let you reenter without guaranteeing that you’re both clean.” At her words you turned to your companion, brows pulled up with a clear look on your face that said ‘I told you so’.

“Use your Geiger counter, go on,” Michael’s tone was razor-sharp and defiant. He was back to being completely collected and authoritative. You would be lying if you were to say that this side of him did not affect you. As he straightened his spine and rested his hands behind his back, desire started to coil in your gut. You wanted those hands on you again. Even if it was just one last time before Cordelia would come for you all.

The Geiger counter confirmed what Michael had promised you; no radiation, you were clean and untouched. While you had trusted him, it was still a relief to know that he hadn’t lied to you.  
“I’m sure you didn’t get all suited up just to welcome us back,” Michael noted, taking your hand and leading you out of the elevator. Miss Mead shook her head, “No. There was a security breach.” A knowing smile spread on Michael’s face, “Then check for any intrusion. As for us, please tell Miss Venable that Miss [L/N] and I wish not to be disturbed for the remaining day. We have important issues to discuss.”

“Which are classified,” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying the words, a slight mockery resonating in your voice. Michael gave your hand a warning squeeze, a silent command to keep your mouth shut. Without another word, he pulled you away from the suits and guided you into the labyrinthine halls of the Outpost.  
“You’ll pay for that comment, my dear. Your skin will bear the signs of your faux pas,” he hissed and excitement started to flutter in your gut.

Yes, you had to use your remaining time with him wisely and the sweet promise that his threat denoted was exactly how you wished this time to play out.

Michael lead you into his room and didn’t bother to lock the door; if someone were to walk in on you two, you knew that he wouldn’t stop. No, he didn’t care who would witness how he would defile you, didn’t care who would hear the screams of pleasure that would sound through the door.

“How shall I punish you?” he sounded challenging as his fingers traced over the neckline of your dress, his touch leaving goosebumps on your skin. “Whatever way you see fit,” you got out, your gaze glued to his as he easily tore through the wispy fabric, exposing you to him. “Now you choose to be a good girl? Don’t hold back with me, I felt your desire. Tell me what you want.” His eyes drifted down, admiring your breasts for a moment before he ripped open the rest of the dress. Michael sucked his teeth appreciatively at your nakedness.

“I want you to clean me up like you promised. Only to get me dirty again,” your voice was barely more than a whisper as his fingers found your nipples, pinching them tenderly and rolling them between his fingers. You bit your lip to keep a moan from slipping over your lips. “Then get into the shower,” he instructed, retreating his hands.

The warm water felt nice against your icy skin. You had only just realized how cold you had been from lying in the mud. While you savored the heat, you watched Michael peel himself out of his wet clothing, your mouth turning dry at the sight of his impressive erection. Every fiber of your body wanted him, so much it consumed you. A part of you tried to capture every image, every sensation, every detail of him, to store it away for the future — when things would be so different from how they were now.

When he joined you in the shower, you took a step back, making room for him. Without uttering a single word, Michael started to wash you up. His hands were diligent, freeing you from all the dirt and mud until every single inch of you had been cleaned to perfection. To your disappointment, there had been nothing sensuous about his touch. This was all work, no play. “Was this all?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking as it was pure agony that he touched you like this when it was evident that he, too, was hungry for something else, something more.

“Patience is a virtue, [Y/N],” he chuckled and ran his thumb over your bottom lip lazily. “You’re the Antichrist, fuck virtue.” You didn’t wait for him to retort something, but stood on your tiptoes to pull him into a demanding kiss. “Ravish me, Mr. Langdon,” you breathed your wish against his lips. You could feel him smile before he answered the kiss, deepening it, while he maneuvered you against the wall. His hand dipped between your thighs and you gasped as he slid a finger through your wetness. “So ready for me. Where did your thoughts go?” he asked, surprised that so little was needed to make your body throb with desire, “Tell me.”

You almost whimpered when he pulled his hand back, only so he could taste you on his fingers. The sight of him licking off your glaze made the heat that pounded between your legs almost unbearable.  
“I thought about your authoritative persona. Your tone that is cold enough to give people frostbite. Your hands resting behind your back and how I want them all over me,” you admitted, pressing your thighs against each other so you’d have some sort of friction. He chuckled darkly and lust clouded his pale eyes. Tantalizing you like this, denying to give you what you needed, brought him pleasure. It made him feel in charge.

Michael leaned in and you felt his lips brush against your neck before he nipped at your earlobe. “Open your legs for me,” he whispered the instruction into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. But instead of rewarding you with his hand, he reached for the handheld showerhead and adjusted the fitting to increase the pressure.  
With a wicked smile, he aimed the shower head at your entrance, the water thrumming against your bundle of nerves so deliciously that it drew a moan from your mouth. With this pressure, you wouldn’t last long and you allowed yourself to relax against the cold tiles. Michael observed you with lecherous fascination, how you palmed your breasts, kneading them gently, desperate for more, more, more.

You felt a well-known sensation building inside of you and your eyes rolled back, your body bracing itself for your climax. But just when you were about to go over the edge, ready to call out his name in sweet ecstasy, the pressure vanished and left you panting. Your eyes flew open and you saw the vicious grin on Michael’s face, “I won’t let you cum just yet. And don’t you dare to finish yourself. I will decide when you’re ready.”  
He granted you to have your fantasy; him being dominating, cold, and controlling. Your knees buckled slightly at this realization. It wasn’t just Michael who would take his sweet time with you. It was the Antichrist.

Before you could completely recover, he turned the water on you again, making you yelp when it hit your already oversensitive sex. You could feel your body react intuitively, the orgasm building anew. Just when you were on the cusp, hungry for your release, the pleasure stopped immediately.  
“Michael, please,” you begged huskily, the sexual frustration almost too much to bear. But he only shook his head, “I’m not done with you yet.”

He did this a few more times, driving your body towards its near-eclipse, almost letting you go all the way. Whenever the water would hit you, you would tremble, your nerves incredibly responsive after having been provoked and stimulated so much already. You were starved for your climax, your body aching with an inconceivable hunger. Seeing how Michael touched himself languidly, pleasuring himself at the sight of your lustful desperation, only added to your craving.  
“Please, Michael. I can’t do this anymore,” you pleaded, your knees weak and breathing hitched as you felt yourself approaching the edge, yet again. “Then come for me, [Y/N].”

His permission alone was almost enough to let you fall apart and when you finally found your release, it ripped through you violently. You were unable to hold yourself up, but Michael pinned you against the wall, letting you relish the depth and length of your shattering orgasm.  
Shocks were still surging through you when you put your arms around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder as you caught your breath. You were deliciously drained.  
“Was this my punishment?” you asked after he had turned off the water and pulled you close to him. “No, we’re not done yet. I still need to get you dirty. Was that not your wish? I still need to leave some marks on you.” A shiver of anticipation danced down your spine and you knew you had hours of bliss still ahead of you. 

Scene 2  
Michael had excused himself to conduct the last interviews and while he was gone, you decided to freshen up. Your knees were still wobbly as you padded to your room clad in nothing but one of his black shirts. A sigh of relief escaped you when you closed the door behind yourself, grateful for having gotten here unnoticed.  
You could only imagine the drama it would cause if someone found you wandering the corridors half-naked. Granted, it was painfully obvious that Michael was intimate with you, but after all the fantastic sex you had just gotten, you were not exactly in the mood to discuss that relationship with anyone — especially not Coco or Miss Venable.

You pulled some underwear and your nicest nightgown out of the wardrobe and slipped into the silky garments when a knock suddenly called your attention. Before opening the door, you wrapped yourself in the robe that had still been lying on the bed from earlier. It couldn’t be Michael as you would have felt his presence pulsating through the door.

“Miss Venable. What can I do for you?” you asked with a frown, folding your arms protectively in front of your body. The mistress of Outpost 3 looked at you with distaste, her narrow eyes filled with spite as they looked you over. “You missed dinner,” she said pointedly to which you just shrugged. You had been satisfied generously and your contentment left no room for actual hunger. “I hope someone else could enjoy my cube,” you noted coldly. “Drop the attitude, young lady,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Why are you here?” you demanded and held up your chin, meeting her venomous stare unfalteringly. “The Cooperative has sent us a treat. Considering that you’ve already been granted entry to the Sanctuary, you should join the rest of us for a small celebration tomorrow.” A knowing smile played on her lips, clearly indicating that there was more to the celebration than she was leading on. She was nothing if not a scheming bitch. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule,” you answered drily after understanding what she was up to.

Suddenly, you felt the iciness of the silver bird skull that adorned her cane biting into your cheek. Venable hadn’t struck you, but just tilted your head slightly to get a better look at you, “I honestly cannot understand his infatuation with you. You are nothing special. In fact, I’ve never paid you any attention in all your time here.”  
You could feel the beast inside of you extending its claws as it reacted to Venable’s insult…and something else. Snap your fingers, snap her neck. Snap your fingers, snap her neck, it hummed, but you ignored it and took a deep breath instead. This would be over soon, there was no need to waste any of your energy on this woman.  
With a sharp movement, you batted the cane away, “Maybe you should have. But I bet it’s difficult for you to look past the end of your own nose. Consider your delusion of grandeur one of your many weaknesses, Miss Venable.”

“Weakness,” she hissed the word as if tasting it on her tongue for the first time. Slowly, she rose her cane, ready to strike you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Mr. Langdon certainly wouldn’t appreciate me to be blemished with a blooming bruise.”  
“I could just strike you somewhere else,” she suggested maliciously. You angled your head predatorily, a movement you had observed Michael do many times, “Oh, please do. I’m certain that he would be livid when he sees his lover’s body defiled like that. That would be your certain expulsion from the Sanctuary. Maybe even this place, depending on how hard you strike me.” She didn’t have to know that your skin was already adorned with lovebites and bruises, that your bottom was still sore from his spanking.

“You’re his lover,” she finally realized and lowered her cane, “Copulation is strictly forbidden!” You raised your eyebrows in an unspoken challenge. “I’m in charge here,” Miss Venable breathed, reassuring herself rather than arguing against you. “A royal mistress is often more powerful than the queen. I’d advise you to leave me be or I will mention this indiscretion during pillow talk.” The woman clenched her jaw at your words, but took a step back, realizing that she had to fall in line.

You gave Venable a small, victorious smile as you stepped out of your room and started towards Michael’s room. Dark power surged through your veins and you knew that it was something the Antichrist had awoken in you. But you wouldn’t let it consume you. You would channel and use this power for the task ahead. Saving Michael was your priority.  
Especially because you understood why your inner beast had unexpectedly started to roam up and down its cage nervously: Cordelia, Myrtle, and Madison had awoken. They were on their way here and as they were already prepared to fight, you started to gather your power, the scythe a constant, warm comfort against your skin.

You knew that the festivities would take place without you, knew that Michael would excuse you both from joining the celebration so you wouldn’t have to witness how everyone would perish after eating poisoned apples. Miss Venable’s mind had practically screamed this plan at you when she had extended the invitation.  
Slipping into someone’s thoughts was new to you, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it had been Ananke who had opened that door temporarily. Your mother wanted you to know that Miss Venable and Miss Mead would try to kill all other inhabitants in order to secure their own survival.  
You also knew that Venable’s megalomania would, ultimately, result in her death. Once she had taken her last breath, Michael would want to lead his robot and you to the Sanctuary where he could continue remodeling the world in his image.

But before that, Cordelia would intervene. And when she did, you had to make a choice. Whose side should you stand on before going back in time?


	5. Resolution/Denouement

Scene 1  
Your clicking heels and the whispering skirt of your dress were the only sounds as you wandered through the cavernous hallways. Michael had asked you to change for the imminent journey to the Sanctuary and you had followed his wish although you knew that you would never leave. Cordelia was terribly close, her proximity making your power tingle in anticipation. Everything would culminate soon. Too soon maybe.

As a pleasant surprise, you had a found a stunning black gown waiting for you on your bed. Its v-shaped neckline allowed a tasteful show of cleavage and from the waist down the skirt flared out in a subtle a-line, ending in a small train. Crafted from sheer silk georgette, it was adorned with rows and rows of pearls and crystals, their placement tactical and narrow enough to ensure that certain places of your body wouldn’t be exposed. As you had adjusted the long sleeves, you turned in front of the mirror. You looked as if you were wrapped in the night sky; you looked like a queen. His queen.

Outpost 3 was eerily quiet now that almost everyone was dead. This place had suddenly changed from being a shelter to becoming a tomb; if only for a few of its inhabitants. You tried to fight the tightness in your chest, telling yourself that you would right all of this when your moment had come. You sent a silent prayer to your mother, asking her for guidance.

Suddenly, your thoughts and the chilling calmness were disrupted by the sound of a gunshot. A voice inside your head whispered that nothing had happened to Michael and, yet, you hurried to his room, heart hammering in your chest as you finally pushed open the door.

You were still catching your breath, your anxiety only subsiding slightly, as you saw Miss Venable lying on the floor, a pool of crimson slowly creeping out from beneath her body. When your eyes slid to Michael, you saw him take a satisfied breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his delicious lips.  
Miss Mead had shot her mistress, her mechanical hand shaking as it was still clutching the gun, the movement and the panic in her eyes so much like a human’s. Quiet, you stood in the doorway, allowing Michael to explain himself, to activate some memory in Miss Mead’s system so that she realized her true function. To serve him, to be with him.

The robot was still coming to terms with its reality, when Michael finally shifted his focus to you, “You look stunning. Tonight, you’re a full-fledged goddess, my dear.”  
Usually, his compliment would trigger a blush blossoming over your cheeks, but all you could do was give him a weak smile. His brow furrowed, confused by your lack of reaction, “What is it?” But you didn’t have to tell him. He could feel them just as clearly as you could.  
“A powerful presence,” he noted, his voice coated with ice…and fear. “I thought everyone was dead?” Miss Mead looked between you, confused. “Not anymore.” Michael held out his hand, a silent request for you to follow him.

Power stirred within you when your fingers interlaced with his. You would face the Supreme with him, standing by his side. Ultimately, you were as different as Michael. Cordelia wasn’t your leader, could never be your leader. There was no point in pretending that you would side with her in this fight.

Faint voices traveled through the hall, telling you that Mallory, Coco, and Dinah had been brought back to life — and that their identity spell had been lifted. You could practically feel Mallory’s magic awakening as it started to settle back into every fiber of her body, stretching and yawning after having slumbered for too long.  
“They are weaker than me,” you muttered as you finally destroyed the adamant walls within you, giving your power free reign for the first time. It flooded you with such violent force that you had to pause for a moment. You braced yourself against the wall, the cold stone biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself with a few deep breaths, stars dancing before your eyes.

“What did you just say?” Michael checked and slid an arm around your waist to support you. A fire burned in his eyes, revealing that he had heard your words, he just needed you to confirm them.  
Together you could wipe out the witches with a simple snap of your fingers. It was what he wanted from you, had maybe wanted ever since he had sensed your power for the first time. But it wasn’t your purpose. It wasn’t part of the plan.

“I need a moment.” It wasn’t a lie. You could still not see clearly as you freed yourself from his grasp and relaxed against the wall, your hand resting on the scythe that started to burn against your skin. Around you, it felt like the walls were caving in and as your hazy view wandered aimlessly, you suddenly noticed a tall shadow moving towards you. Not your mother, not a witch. Something else.

“Who are you?” you whispered, ignoring Michael’s urges which sounded muffled and far away. “You asked for guidance, child. Come with me and I will take you to the place where you are needed. What happens here is not for your eyes,” the man’s voice was warm, gentle, and oddly familiar.  
“But he needs me.” You searched for Michael but you were unable to find him in the cloud of darkness that suddenly surrounded you. “He needs you elsewhere,” the voice assured you and you felt a hand on your shoulder.

The scythe that had been hanging around your neck dissolved into thin air and you understood that your power had burned it instinctively.  
Chronos. You had called upon Chronos, the personification of time.  
“Let me at least tell him goodbye,” you begged, terror flooding your body. Michael would be alone again, abandoned by yet another person he had trusted. You were no better than the people who had misused him in the past.  
But Time ignored your plea and as he wrapped his soft wings around you, silver lined your eyes. Somewhere, far away, hidden in the darkness, you could hear Michael call out your name, the sound of his desperation reverberating through time and space.

Scene 2  
Although the Californian sun was burning down on you relentlessly, Chronos wrapped a dark cloak around your shoulders, its fabric swallowing up the surrounding light. “Keep yourself hidden at any cost, no one is to see you. Time does not react well to any confusion,” he explained calmly, “Although your power is strong enough to veil you, you should wear your brother’s cloak. It is crafted from materialized darkness so that not even the witches can sense you.”

You nodded at the old man in front of you, his white feathered wings now folded tightly behind his back, “Why are we here? Where is the house my mother showed me?” Chronos had brought you both to a somewhat busy street that was lined with stores, people scurrying around as they ran their errands, completely unaware of the deity in their midst.  
“You need to see her,” he just said, gesturing to a young woman who hurried down the street. She was still dressed in her uniform which gave away her identity even though her hair was now unbound and curtained her face. Mallory.

With curiosity, you watched her from under your obscuring veil of shadow, observed how she changed her clothing in a store and then stole a luxurious car from the street. Mallory took whatever she wanted and needed, not sparing a single thought to the consequences. Her carelessness was baffling and a part of you instantaneously knew that she would never offer her hand to Michael. No, she would rather cut it off.  
The usually gentle and kind witch was out for bloodshed, her mind purely set on revenge; not salvation. You decided to thank Chronos for having removed you from the Outpost when he had, otherwise you might have killed her then and there.

Time’s wings wrapped around you anew, moving you through the world, from one place to the other, with marvelous ease. His feathery darkness only enveloped you for a short moment before the sun’s rays beckoned you to open your eyes again. Stretching out in front of you, was the place where everything had begun and where it would all come to an end: Murder House.

The house appeared quiet, peaceful even, although you could feel the spirits stirring inside, curious about the unexpected presence of such a strong celestial being that stood at the border of their eternal prison. But instead of considering to spare any of them, Chronos turned to you, ignoring the screaming souls entirely, “This is where I leave you.” He leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead, “Remember why you are here and let your power guide you.”

You nodded slowly, slightly distracted by the eyes that observed you carefully from inside the red brick building, “Thank you for helping me.” Chronos inclined his head and with a forceful flap of his large wings, he disappeared into nothingness, diving into the void between the worlds.  
When he was gone, the spirits quieted; apparently, Erebus’ cloak not only obscured you from the witches, but also from any spirits.

Even from where you stood, their disappointment was conspicuous, the balmy afternoon air carrying it on its wind as it danced around the house. Their whispers told you enough about how desperately they wanted to leave this place. Maybe you would find a way of helping them once you had saved Michael?

A heated argument coming from next door pulled you out of your musings abruptly. Constance Langdon’s voice was shrill and the words she spat at her grandson brought about a lump in your throat. It wasn’t easy to stand witness to her spite, albeit that you had already heard her hateful speech, every syllable burned into your memory.  
Decidedly, you swallowed hard and blinked the tears away that burned behind your eyes. You had to be strong now. With silent steps you approached the house, tensely waiting for Michael to emerge.

Against your will, you stood by, not revealing yourself, when young Michael Langdon finally stepped out of the house, barefoot, his sun yellow t-shirt damp from the tears that were still falling down his cheeks. Your heart ached for the precious boy as he padded onto the front lawn, his wheat blonde curls shining like liquid gold in the daylight. His anxiety and pain surrounded him like a thick cloud as he looked up and down the street with wide eyes, not knowing where to go or who to turn to.

In the distance, you could hear the screeching of tires against hot blacktop road, the sound urging you to hurry after the boy. As you ran, you pulled off your brother’s cloak, the movement forceful enough to send some of the pearls and crystals that adorned your dress clattering to the ground. The souls in the house awoke anew, craning their necks so they could observe the source of the power that had just been unveiled.

The moment you caught up with Michael, you cast off your obscuring veil, your sudden appearance startling him so much that he stopped dead in his tracks. Your palms connected with his slim shoulders to push him out of the way, sending him staggering back until he landed on his bottom. Instinctively, you held up your hand, forcing the car to an abrupt stop as if it hit an invisible wall.  
Mallory would suffer from more than a whiplash when you were done with her.  
“W-what’s going on?” Michael’s voice trembled with fear, his eyes shifting between you and the young witch that climbed out of the car. “I’ll explain later,” you promised, “You’re safe now. I’m here for you. I came back for you.”

Raw power. You could feel it now, what he was made of. No wonder Mallory had chosen this moment in time. He was vulnerable and untested, unaware of the gifts that were slumbering inside of him. Carefully, you sent tendrils of your power in his direction, letting it snake around him until it had created an invisible, shielding cage that would protect him from Mallory. And protect you from him.

You turned to bare your teeth at the young witch, the new Supreme. “[Y/N], what are you doing here? How did you…?” her doe eyes wandered over your body until she was certain that you were unscathed. But then her gaze slid to Michael, who was cowering in the grass, horror written on his youthful features. “By the help of my family,” you explained coldly, claiming her attention.

At the sound of that word, Mallory finally realized that you were not here to help her, not here to end the Antichrist. She understood that you didn’t consider her or the rest of the Coven your family. Neither Cordelia nor Myrtle had helped you here. It had been someone else.

“Killing a child in cold blood,” you clicked your tongue at her and shook your head in disappointment. “He will bring about the Apocalypse,” she sounded pleading and gestured towards the young man, “He will kill us all.”  
“He doesn’t have to. His path isn’t set in stone. You could and should have helped him,” you clarified, disgust lacing your words, “But you chose against it, blinded by absolute anger and animosity.”  
“You’re insane!” she exclaimed and you felt her magic nagging at you, no more than a small fly that you could swat away with a wave of your hand.

“Your parlor tricks won’t work on me, Mallory. Not anymore. While you and Coco were concealed by the identity spell, my own power awoke.” It was too easy to wield your divine magic and to let it lace through the young woman’s gifts, binding it down with adamant chains while you circled her predatorily, “I found out why my spells didn’t work, why I was so behind on everything.”

“Why?” she spat the question at you, struggling against your mental hold, against the talons that you dragged over her magic tauntingly.  
“I’m not only a witch,” you took a deep, satisfied breath before you continued, something you had seen Michael do so many times at the Outpost. It was difficult to ignore the pang of missing him, but you succeeded in shoving it to the back of your head for now. “I’m a demi-goddess, daughter of Ananke, sister of the Moirai.”  
“You’re the daughter of Fate,” fear rang in her voice, but you had no comforting words to say to her. Not anymore. When she had chosen what she wanted to do to the young Antichrist, her own destiny had been rewritten.  
“Michael’s fate wasn’t settled yet, but yours is now,” you felt the ripple of comfort as your sisters answered your silent call and started to manifest behind you, carrying a gift with them, “Meet Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.”

The three goddesses were dressed in exquisite dark robes, hoods drawn so their faces were hidden. Clotho came to stand beside you, carrying a spindle in her delicate hands. “Do you know what this is, Mallory?” you asked, taking the thread that Lachesis now offered you. The goddess gave you a small reassuring nod as you wound the silken strand between your fingers.  
“My…life,” the witch swallowed hard as she watched you toying with it. Atropos chucked darkly, hungry to fulfill her purpose. “I see now that I measured it too generously,” Clotho said in a voice that was even softer than the thread you held in your hand.

The ground seemed to shudder when Atropos produced her shears from inside her robe, its metal glistening in the sun.  
“Please, you should cut his fate and not mine!” Mallory begged, sinking to her knees in defeat. “I have not woven his thread,” Clotho explained with an elegant shrug. “And even if she had I would not have measured it,” Lachesis clarified. “And I am not to cut it,” Atropos concluded, “Neither will I cut yours.”  
Mallory let go of a breath she had been holding, relief washing over her features.

Your heart pounded in your chest and you heard your blood rushing in your ears when Atropos handed you the shears, “My sister will do the honors.”  
The tool was surprisingly heavy and you weighed it in your hand for a moment, your eyes locking with Mallory’s in these last moments.  
“For betraying an innocent like this,” you lined up the shears, sliding the blades apart and placing the thread between them, “For refusing to help him, both then and now, you shall pay with your life.”

“He is the Antichrist, he deserves to die!” Mallory cried out. “You do not get to make that decision, feeble human,” Atropos hissed. You shook your head at the witch, “Insulting the inevitable fate, death, is never a good idea. May you rot in hell.”  
The shears snapped shut, the blades cutting through Mallory’s thread like a warm knife through butter. And just like that, she toppled over, her head hitting the street with a soft thud. The new Supreme was dead, giving space to someone else, someone more capable, someone who was only half a witch.

“You did well, sister,” Atropos took the shears from your trembling hand and pressed a small kiss onto your cheek, “Release these souls when your mate has grown into who he is supposed to become.” She gestured towards the house, but you were too preoccupied with her words, “Mate?”  
“He is your other half, my dear,” Clotho said softly and kissed you goodbye. “Only together you are a whole. The Apocalypse came about because he found you too late and became enslaved instead,” Lachesis explained and brushed her lips against your forehead, “Hold him dear and you will live a prosperous life.”  
With those words, your sisters disappeared and left you behind, with a dead body on the street, a house full of screaming souls behind you, and a frightened boy sitting on the grass.

“What just happened?” he demanded, his voice shaking when you came to kneel before him. Slowly, you retreated the vines that had been securing him and took his hands into his. “I’m here to bring you to safety, Michael,” you said gently, carefully wiping away the tears that were still staining his face, “Come with me. There’s someone you need to meet.”

“Who are you?” he wanted to know as he let you guide him to the car that Mallory had stolen. “I’ll introduce myself later,” you evaded and picked up Erebus’ cloak before sitting down behind the wheel.  
“I never meant to hurt anyone,” he sniffled as he fastened his seatbelt. You allowed yourself to take in this devastatingly beautiful boy who was now finally given the chance to become a great man. “I know that. And so will the people that will take you in.”

Exhaustion washed over Michael by the time you hit the freeway, speeding down a still very well-known route: you were going home. On your way there, you sometimes felt the boy shudder, violent memories dancing through his dreams. Whenever nightmares breached through his soft slumber, you would take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, telling him that he was safe.  
You took a deep breath when you came to a stop in front of your house and looked at the home that was now dipped in a golden orange shade by the sinking sun. The blue hydrangeas were stretching towards the last rays of light and the grass on the front lawn looked to be freshly cut. Nothing looked out of place, everything was untouched by any evilness, catastrophe or tragedy. No, this place didn’t need any resolution.

“Michael,” you said gently, stirring him awake. His pale blue eyes glistened in the burning light, his fear exchanged for tranquility as he answered your smile. “We’re here. Just walk up to this door and give the man this cloak. He will take care of you.”  
“Can’t you come with me?” he muttered, brows pulled up when he realized you weren’t coming with him. “I, um…will meet you inside, I promise.” You leaned over to him, cradling him for a moment until you placed a kiss on his cheek, kissing away the tear that had crept from his eye. “This is not a goodbye,” you promised and gave him the bundle of darkness, “Now, go. I’m right behind you.”

Although tentative at first, Michael got out of the car, his pale blue eyes flickering back to you before he walked up to the front door. Carefully you wrapped your veil of shadows around yourself and then followed him.

The images your mother had planted in your mind flashed before your eyes with every step that you took towards the house. And with every step, you felt how you melted into someone else, as you felt yourself return to the young woman whose father had just opened the door for a strange, young boy, tearstained and blonde locks in disarray. A young boy who from that day one would live with you, as a part of your family.

You tried desperately to hold on to the images. To the first kiss you would share with Michael, both of you dipped in the cold blue light of the next full moon, fingers interlaced and souls bound to one another. To your beautiful wedding dress that you wore during the charming fall ceremony, where Miss Cordelia was smiling proudly at you, her successor. To the feeling of the growing bump hidden underneath your black sundress, to your awareness of the incredibly powerful child that you were carrying for Michael, for yourself.

The world had been given the chance to better itself one more time, the souls of Murder House would be released, while you were showering the Antichrist, a man of flesh and blood, with the love that he was entitled to. As you helped him cope with his urges, as you strengthened him as he strengthened you. As you showed him what joy and happiness felt like. Michael was your companion, your best friend, your lover. Your other half.

You returned to your young self with a smile, looking forward to your bright future, the images now merely a shadow that would sometimes revisit you in your dreams. And Michael…Michael had been given the fate that he had always deserved.


End file.
